Makarov. An old flame of yours, from what seems like a different lifetime to you now. You were young, stupid and in love, but he’d always had bigger goals for his future. Your whirlwind romance abruptly ended when he joined the army, and left you behind.

You were distraught, of course, and left him plenty of sobbing voicemails and promises of waiting for him. And you did, for a year or two—but still, you didn’t hear so much as a whisper of his whereabouts or how he’d been doing. So, the time came for you to move on.

You’d never really forgotten him, he was your first love, of course—but you found a nice, sweet man, someone to spend your future with. And now, the night before your wedding to someone else, you stand before the one who’d left you all those years ago.

He just showed up at your door without warning. He’s certainly aged well, though you don’t remember the numerous scars that now litter his face. 20 years changes a lot. “Why are you marrying that—that idiot?” He scoffs, as though your fiancé is nothing more than a pest.